


A Light at the (Near) End of the World

by ladyoneill



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mating Bites, Post-Apocalypse, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 12:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10513989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoneill/pseuds/ladyoneill
Summary: The world he grew up in has ended in a supernatural war that devastated the human population.  A survivor, Stiles lives a solitary, quiet life in Wales until there's a knock on his door.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this Pic](https://www.flickr.com/photos/fellwalker1/32477716806) and written for Pic for 1000. Of course I waited until the last couple hours before the deadline...

The war between the supernatural and the humans came seemingly out of nowhere. No one was prepared. No one who knew the truth of the hidden world expected its revelation and the destruction of so much of the world to be so swift.

Death came quickly. Cities burned. Technology crashed.

Within a year, only five percent of the human population remained alive. Nearly ninety percent of the supernatural world continued, making the numbers practically even.

If the survivors wanted to continue living, the only possible end was a wary truce.

Civilization remained in small pockets scattered around the globe. After a few years, agrarian society flourished again. Technology never returned to the level it had been, but towns generated electricity again. Toilets flushed and radios worked but only for short distances.

Computers, televisions, cars, planes, phones...all gone.

When the world nearly ended Stiles was in London on vacation between his junior and senior years in college. 

Ten years later he lives a solitary life on the Irish Sea in a tiny village in Wales, manning the lighthouse for the small sailing ships that have begun to cross between Ireland and what remains of the United Kingdom.

He has no idea if any of his friends, if his father are alive. He had no way of ever reaching them.

He regrets ever leaving Beacon Hills.

The once expressive face is mostly still. When he speaks, which is rare, his voice is deep but soft. There are scars down one cheek from a werewolf's claws, but his amber eyes glint with intelligence.

While he barely made it out of London alive and it took him nearly a year of struggle, fear and pain to find a safe place to live, he is finally at peace. Surrounded by books, tending a garden, raising chickens, he lives a solitary and quiet life. At night, he lights the lamp, watches the sun set over the sea and tries not to think of home.

*****

A knock on the door startles him, sends his heart racing. People don't come here. The other villagers respect his desire to be alone, letting him come to them to buy food and books with the money he makes as the lighthouse keeper and selling herbal remedies infused with a touch of his well hidden spark.

Frowning, Stiles sets down his battered copy of The Magicians--the irony amuses him--and goes to the door, wrapping his woolen jumper around himself. It's a cold night and he's not happy at having to leave his fire and cup of tea.

Throwing open the door, prepared to bark at whomever has disturbed his peace, he feels his eyes go wide and his mouth dry.

Peter Hale is on his doorstep, smirking at him, not a hair out of place, wearing an all too tight v-neck top.

"In Cardiff I heard the tale of an American with golden eyes and a gift with herbal medicines living in a remote lighthouse and, bored, I decided to leave my lucrative business of cheating at cards to discover if the boy I'd known was in London when the end came had survived."

Stiles slams the door shut and, through the thick wood, can hear Peter's rolling laughter.

"Jesus," he mutters. The last person he ever expected to see.

The world spins in ridiculous ways.

Thunking his forehead against the door, he sighs deeply, then opens it again, stepping back to let the werewolf inside.

"Should have known you'd survive a supernatural war, just like a cockroach."

"Charming as ever." Peter grins, blue eyes gleaming in the candle and firelight, and closes the door behind him.

"So, you found me. Now what?" Crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles remains standing, wanting to be on an even level with one of the most dangerous predators he's ever known. Peter's eyes drift over him, stopping on the scars for a moment, lips twitching into a small frown. 

Before Stiles can even think to move, the wolf is in front of him, hand gently cupping his cheek, and he gasps.

Because no one has touched him in years.

Uncalloused fingers of a born wolf slip across the buckled and torn skin to the corner of his upper lip where a claw bisected what was once a rosy bow.

"Did you kill the werewolf who did this?" Peter growls softly.

"...Yes."

"Good."

Shaking himself free of both his weird revery and Peter's hand, Stiles steps back several feet, letting his eyes go cold. "What do you want, Peter?"

"Would you believe I've missed you?"

Stiles snorts. "I don't believe you've given me a single thought."

The older mans seems actually bothered by that, his brows furrowing as he frowns. "You have never completely left my mind, Stiles. Not since that night in the hospital when I first saw you. Yes, I had to stop thinking consciously about you all the time, but you have always been there, in a corner of my mind, in my wolf's eye."

"And so, what? You heard some story of an American guy who fiddles with herbs and jumped to the 'hey it might be Stiles' conclusion?"

"My wolf did. Do you know why?" Peter's voice is soft, almost a croon as he walks on silent feet across the room. Stiles doesn't move, just waits, and it's not even a shock when his wrist is caught by strong fingers and lifted to eye level. There's hardly any space between them now and Stiles is barely breathing. The room is suddenly warm and the tension is palatable. "You were too young, then, and when you weren't, I was gone and then you were gone and then the world we knew ended, but I always believed some day I'd find you."

"Why?" Stiles whispers, eyes widening as Peter's own glow sapphire.

"You know why." And the wolf bites into the tender flesh, sending a burst of pain through Stiles that crashes into awareness.

"Mate."

Yes.

End


End file.
